


I Remember You

by AgentCoop



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Coming of Age, Drug Use, Each fox meets Neil once before Palmetto, Exy (All For The Game), First Kiss, First Meetings, M/M, Memories, Road Trips, Trauma, aftg reverse big bang 2021, and his many bad dye jobs, neil and his many aliases
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:42:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29783181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentCoop/pseuds/AgentCoop
Summary: He was at Evermore with Kevin, he was on a roof with Andrew, he was in a parking lot with Dan, he was in a gas station with Aaron, he was in a park with Nicky, he was in the snow with Allison, he was at a boxing gym with Matt, he was in a car with Renee.He was on the court and there were 8 Foxes, staring him down and telling him not to leave.***What if the Foxes had each met Neil before Palmetto?Written for the AFTG RBB with art byFornavn
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 27
Kudos: 138





	1. KEVIN | AGE 12 | EVERMORE

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! Welcome to my AFTG RBB 2021 Fic! I'll be posting updates 2x a week until March 31. 
> 
> Really hope you enjoy, comments and kudos mean the world to me, thanks so much for reading! <3

The man was dead.

His face was a mottled purple and green, and blood still leaked sluggishly from a dozen different wounds, but Kevin’s eyes were fixed on his chest, waiting for another wet gasp, or a sudden pained inhalation–waiting for any movement at all.

It didn’t come, because the man was dead.

_The man was dead._

Next to him, Riko let out a slow hiss of breath, and from the corner of his eye, Kevin could see him leaning forward ever so slightly, eyes intense with interest.

The Butcher stood across the room from them, mouth curved in an unbearable rictus of a grin, white knuckled grip clutching an impossibly sharp cleaver.

Kevin didn’t know why they were there. They’d been playing a practice game with other potential recruits who wanted a chance at Raven infamy, and they’d finished, and they were supposed to be going to the showers but then they didn’t. Now, the sweat from the game had dried to his skin and he could smell it, could taste the salty residue around his lips. He didn’t know why they’d been called up or what they were supposed to be doing, he didn’t know if he should watch or if he should close his eyes, he didn’t know how to stop the anxious tingling that was running through his arms, to his wrists, to his hands, to his fingers that were starting to shake–

“Dispose of it,” Kengo Moriyama said from behind Kevin.

His voice was close enough that Kevin almost flinched. He didn’t. He at least knew better than that.

Riko’s grin grew wider as the Butcher knelt down on the bloody tarp and began to work. Kevin let his eyes glaze, but he couldn’t mute the awful sound of meat being severed from bone. His hands clenched to fists at his sides, but he forced himself to relax enough to tuck them behind his back, one hand around one wrist, then tried to breathe through his nose and out through his mouth as evenly as possible.

Like an athlete.

Like a _good_ athlete.

On his other side stood a boy who didn’t move an inch.

Kevin tried not to look at him either, but he didn’t want to look at the mess in front of him so his eyes kept flickering over. Unlike Riko, Nathaniel didn’t move forward, didn’t smile, didn’t do anything at all.

Swallowing, Kevin stood a little straighter and tried to be a little more like that and little less like...himself.

The cleaver smacked into the body again and Kevin cringed, then bit his lower lip hard enough that he could taste blood.

He wondered if this is what his mom looked like when she died–not being carved up for disposal, but still bloody and bruised; lifeless eyes forever fixated on something no one else could understand. He wondered if she struggled to breath in the end, if she gasped too, if it sounded as wet and hopeless as the dead man had. He wondered if she could smell gasoline, or fire, or burning rubber. If she begged for her life as the car rolled, or if she accepted it and was quiet the entire time.

He hoped she hadn’t been like this man.

He hoped she hadn’t been scared.

A heavy hand landed on Kevin’s shoulder and he jumped, then ducked his head down. “Sorry, sir,” he murmured reflexively.

“Go wash, boys” Ichirou instructed, hand tightening firmly. “Night practice begins in four hours.”

Riko turned and smiled with all the confidence in the world. “Yes sir,” he said smoothly.

“Sir,” Kevin echoed, voice robotic in his own ears. He followed Riko towards the exit and barely kept from running.

The other boy stayed behind with the stench of blood and the sound of the cleaver.

_Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._

***

The locker rooms were empty.

They’d been upstairs long enough that by now, most of the Ravens would be either eating dinner, or catching up on sleep before night practice began.

Most of the Ravens would never have to watch a man die on his hands and knees, and Kevin hated them for it.

“Fuck-ing incredible,” Riko said.

He bit off the edges of each syllable, the curse word still just a little too bulky to fit all the way inside his mouth. He’d been doing this lately, trying out words, vernacular, language–trying to be _dangerous_.

He sounded stupid, but Kevin wasn’t about to tell him so. Nodding, Kevin forced his fingers to turn the dial of his locker, then flinched when they messed up the combination. He blinked, forced the image of a bloody tarp from behind his eyes, and tried again.

The locker opened this time, and Kevin toed off his sneakers and stuck them inside, then grabbed a pair of shorts and followed Riko into the showers.

“So?” Riko asked as soon as the showers were running. “Who would you pick?”

“Pick?”

Riko wadded up a washcloth and threw it at Kevin.

It smacked into the side of his arm before Kevin could yank it out of the air which wasn’t normal, normally he could grab them, normally he was faster, normally he knew what Riko meant when Riko said things and oh, of course, _who would you pick from the new kids_ , he needed to say someone’s name, he needed to–

“What the fuck is wrong with you? You look like a fucking fish.”

Kevin closed his mouth and blinked. The steam was rising now from the hot water, wrapping sluggishly around their limbs and blurring everything until it was almost unreal.

Almost.

“I guess the girl...the one from California..the…”

“She sucked,” Riko said with Riko finality.

Kevin blinked again, then turned his head up to the water, letting the heat of it roll off his cheeks and chin. “Oh. Yeah. You’re right.”

“Obviously.

“Who would you–”

And Riko was off, expounding the failures of everyone. It was easy enough to fall into second place and let Riko take the lead–he’d practiced it to perfection. Kevin let Riko’s words roll off him like the water rolling off his back, swirling around his toes and disappearing into the drain as he scrubbed his skin raw.

It wasn’t until after he’d turned off the water, wrapped a towel around himself, and padded back onto the dark carpets of the locker room floor that he realized they were no longer alone.

Nathaniel Wesninski was sitting on the end of one of the long benches and looking up at him with hooded eyes. They stared at each other for a moment, frozen, only the white noise of the showers making any sound at all.

Finally, Kevin cleared his throat. “You play well,” he said, because it seemed wrong to keep staring, because it seemed right to force words from his mouth, because maybe if they talked about Exy then maybe they wouldn’t have to talk about the body upstairs.

Nathaniel’s eyes brightened for just a moment, but then he blinked and it was gone, every feature of his face smooth and controlled. “Okay.”

“Night practice will be tougher,” Kevin warned. “Today was just a game. Just a warm-up. Tonight they’ll go for blood.”

Nathaniel shrugged, then pulled a knee up and started unlacing one shoe. “Most of the kids weren’t very good.”

“Yeah. A few were though.” Shrugging, Kevin wriggled into an oversized Ravens t-shirt and combed his fingers through his wet hair. “They usually don’t pick anyone.”

“That’s not fair. Why even hold try-outs at all?”

“They usually don’t pick anyone because there aren’t any kids that can actually keep up.”

“You do. Riko does.”

Kevin wrinkled his nose at that. Riko did because he had to. Kevin did because he had to. There had never been another option. Kevin didn’t mind because he loved Exy more than anything else and this was what it took to be the best. He assumed Riko felt the same way.

“Yeah, well...I don’t know. If you really want to be here then you’ll have to be better than you were during the game. Riko got at least ten shots past you.”

“He’s had way more training–”

“That doesn’t matter. I’m just telling you, if you want a spot you better try harder.”

Nathaniel scowled down at the bench then pulled off his other shoe. The showers cut off, so Kevin focused all of his attention back on getting dressed, and cleaning up his space.

Riko came walking through a moment later, throwing his locker open and toweling off in front of it. “That your dad, yeah?” he asked, still facing the wall.

Kevin didn’t miss the flinch that Nathaniel made.

“Yeah,” he said quietly.

Riko didn’t say anything else, and a moment later, a couple of men in dark, perfectly pressed suits walked in.

“You’re supposed to be changed,” one of them said to Nathaniel, eyebrows raised.

“Sorry,” Nathaniel mumbled, then quickly stood up, grabbed the pile of clothing next to him, and headed towards the bathroom.

“Your mother wants you,” the same man said. “Now.”

Nathaniel winced. “Okay, yeah, sorry, I’ll just be a minute.” He disappeared inside one of the toilet stalls, and Kevin heard the sound of gear hitting the floor.

One of the men stepped outside and the other stayed, arms crossed, eyes fixated on the tiled floor of the bathroom.

“Weak,” Riko muttered, slamming his own locker and toeing into his sneakers. “He’ll never make the cut.”

Kevin didn’t say anything else, just followed Riko from the locker room, down the hall, and to the dining room to force down enough calories to get them through night practice.

***


	2. ANDREW | AGE 13 | OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so...
> 
> I'M REALLY DUMB.
> 
> I definitely uploaded a chapter from another fic and stuck it here, and I honestly don't even know how it happened other than I'm tired, apparently more tired than I thought, also I'm really stupid.
> 
> SO HERE WE GO, here's the right chapter, thanks for sticking with me through my absolute idiocy, I'm seriously just...yeah. Thanks guys! (And the two of you who commented and were like...ummmm huh? Thank you!!!! HAHA I NEVER WOULD HAVE NOTICED I'M A CLOWN)

Andrew stood on the apartment landing, hand hovering just over the doorknob, eyes on the crooked plastic **2C** that was glued to the door. He could hear the sound of his foster mother crying and his foster father yelling.

Somedays, it would be nice to just...not exist.

Maybe if he turned the knob really carefully, and let himself in really quietly, and snuck around the living room to the hallway to the bedroom he shared with his foster brother really stealthily, they wouldn’t notice.

Doubtful.

He prodded fingers at the bruise on his cheek, wincing when he got too close to the swollen skin around his left eye.

Fuck them.

Andrew shrugged his backpack on more firmly, then headed back down the stairs.

He rapidly filed through the list of possible hideouts, but came up empty. There was a bodega around the corner that had nothing but beer, bruised fruit, and expired shit on the shelves. It also had a big fluffy tomcat named Killer who always wanted pets–even though he liked to swipe at Andrew’s fingers. Unfortunately, the owner was an asshole who’d told Andrew last week that if he ever showed his face there again, he’d call the cops.

So not the bodega.

There was a graffiti filled alley a block down from that, but it was only ever empty in the hour between dusk and darkness. Before dusk it was filled with asshole skater kids. After darkness, it was filled with hookers. Right now, it was before.

So not the alley.

If he wanted to take the bus back towards school, he could head to the library, but the library was a library, and he hated libraries.

So not the library.

He could just get on the bus and stay there, ride it to the end of the line, get off and keep on going, and going, and going–

He’d tried to run away from a family when he was eight, and he’d tried to run away from another family when he was eleven, and he’d tried to run away again when he was twelve, and it made no difference at all because they always found him and carted him right back.

So not the bus.

Scowling, Andrew turned around the side of the building and headed down through the skinny alley filled with trash. There were stagnant pools of water still here from when it had rained two nights ago, and he skirted them, wrinkling his nose at the smell. Way in the back, on the opposite side of the building was a metal fire escape that crawled up the brick from story to story, all the way until it reached the top. He didn’t like coming here because _here_ was still _home_ and _home_ was the place he was trying to escape.

He didn’t like coming here because sometimes, when he made it all the way to the top, his stomach flipped when he looked down and it wasn’t a good flip. It was a flip full of _maybe_ and _can I_ and _**do it**_.

The ladder was about five feet too tall, so Andrew pushed one of the big dumpsters over as close as he could get. It shrieked the entire way, so Andrew kicked it, and then it shrieked more, so Andrew swore at it, and eventually it was close enough that he could crawl up on top, raise up on the balls of his feet, and snag the bottom of the metal, pulling it down far enough for him to scramble up.

On the landing of the fourth floor, a window shuddered open and a nasty looking woman with crooked teeth and out-of-a-box red hair popped her head off.

“I told you I’ll call the cops if I see you out here again, you little fucker, get the fuck off, you fucking–”

Andrew flipped her off, then just kept climbing, tuning out her shrieks.

He didn’t care.

The seventh floor landing was the last before the roof, and the ladder narrowed down even further. Wrapping clammy hands around the rungs, he pulled himself up the last part and didn’t look down, didn’t look down, didn’t look down–

His backpack caught on the lip of the ladder at the very last moment, and Andrew sucked a deep breath in, then carefully wriggled out of the straps before pushing it onto the roof. Then he pushed himself the rest of the way to the top.

He wasn’t alone.

Andrew almost screamed in frustration. All that for nothing, all that to find some other asshole sitting in _his_ spot, staring at _his_ horizon.

“Fuck you,” he yelled, voice thick with something almost like fear.

The other kid was sitting against the exhaust pipe, legs dangling over the edge, and he looked over at Andrew, then turned back to the skyline without saying anything,

Andrew snagged his backpack with one hand, then stomped over. “I said, fuck you.”

“I heard,” the other kid said.

“This is my spot.”

“Oh really.”

The other boy spoke quietly, but his words were laced with venom. He was unassuming–ratty blue jeans, plain black cotton t-shirt, sneakers that were almost entirely worn through at the soles, and mousy brown hair that was uneven and dyed just as badly as the woman on floor four.

“ Yeah,” Andrew said. He threw his backpack against the exhaust pipe and it clanged. “Yeah, my spot. Move.”

“I live here. I’ve been up here the last two weeks, always right around this time,” the boy said. “And I’ve never seen you here.”

He still didn’t look at Andrew, just gazed off into the distance, like he was trying to find meaning in the fucking smoggy air.

“Yeah, well I was busy.”

“Maybe you should leave a sign,” the boy said. “Off-limits. Property of stupid, blond, midget. If you trespass, he will throw a tantrum.”

There was rage burning through Andrew’s blood, and he grit his teeth so hard it hurt. “Fuck. You,” he bit off, hands curling into fists at his sides.

The boy just shot him a feral looking grin in response.

Andrew could kick him. He could pull him up by the collar of his too-big black t-shirt and punch him. He could shove him off the roof and watch him fall and listen to what would be a horribly impressive splat as his body hit the pavement.

“Staying, or going?” The boy asked.

He could sit down next to him, and pull a knee to his chest, and dig out the carton of cigarettes that he’d stolen from his foster mom and smoke one, and pretend that his face didn’t hurt, and pretend like someone cared, and pretend like he wasn’t so fucking lonely he was about to shatter into a million pieces.

Andrew forced his hands to relax again, and took a deep breath of smoggy, California air.

Then he sat down–far enough back that he couldn’t see the sidewalk straight below them, but close enough to the edge that the voices started up again.

_Do it._

_Do it._

_Do it._

“You have a name?” he bit out, pulling the crumpled pack of cigarettes from his backpack.

The boy scooted even further forward, and his legs kicked against the side of the building, and Andrew resisted the urge to tug him back to safety.

“Chris. You?”

Andrew jabbed a cigarette into his mouth, flicked the lighter twice before it caught, then lit the end. “Andrew.”

“Okay. Those are bad for you.”

“You don’t fucking say.”

Chris shot him a wary look, then scooted over. “Can you just…” he motioned back towards the other side of the roof. “Go over there?”

Honestly, Andrew hated cigarettes too. He hated the smell of smoke, he hated the way his foster mom would light up the second she woke up, and chain smoke until the second she went to bed, but he liked the way people avoided him now. He liked having something to fiddle with. To give him a reason for not speaking. To make him look dangerous. Andrew eyed Chris with a hooded glare, then blew a mouthful of smoke at him.

“Oh, fuck you,” Chris muttered.

Andrew flipped him the finger. “Calm down. You live in a fucking dump. I’m sure you’ve smelled cigarette smoke before.”

“Yeah, but now I’m going to smell like whatever the fuck you’re smoking which is different than my Mom’s Sterlings, so she’ll know I’ve been out, and I’ll get in trouble. So thanks a lot, dickwad.”

“You are on the roof. Of your own building. Hardly qualifies as _out_ ,” Andrew said, mouth emphasizing the last word with a pop of his tongue.

“Yeah, well, tell that to her.” Chris sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. His feet kept kicking the side of the building, _thunk, thunk, thunk._

Andrew watched him for a long time, long enough to smoke the cigarette down to the filter and then flick it off the side of the building. “What floor do you live on?”

He didn’t know why he was trying to start a conversation again. He didn’t care where the kid lived, because Andrew was a nomadic thing, a tumbleweed, a plastic bag in the wind. He’d be in a new home in a new building with a new roof by Christmas because that’s how it always worked–and this kid would be long gone.

He didn’t care where the kid lived, because it didn’t matter.

It didn’t.

Chris eyed him again, mouth pulling to a thin line. “Why?”

Shrugging, Andrew leaned back against the exhaust pipe. He wanted another cigarette, but there were only four left in the pack, and it was going to be hell to steal a new one. “I haven't seen you around.”

“New here.”

“Where’d you move from?”

“Why do you have so many questions?”

“I’m bored,” Andrew said. “Entertain me.” He picked at the hole in his jeans with his fingers, finding a long white thread and pulling it until it snapped.

“I’m not a monkey.” Chris’s jaw was tight, but he didn’t look away from Andrew. His nose wrinkled for a second, and eventually he sighed in defeat. “Quebec.”

Andrew snorted. “Quebec.”

“Yeah. Canada.”

“I know where Quebec is, dipshit, you don’t have an accent though.”

Chris’s brow furrowed and he looked incredulously at Andrew. “What?”

“French. They speak French there. And you don’t have an accent.”

“I…” Chris threw his head back in frustration, then pulled a knee to his chest. “Are you stupid? There are plenty of people that speak English in Quebec.”

“Sure. Canadians. With accents. So where were you from before that?”

Chris’s cheeks flushed. “Nowhere. My turn. Why are you here?”

As far as questions went, it was incredibly uninspired, and yet it suddenly rocked Andrew to the core. He was here because no one else wanted him. He was here because he had nowhere else to go. He was here because he was lonely.

He was here because _here_ was safer than Apartment 2C.

Andrew grit his teeth, then gave a droll little wave of his hand. “Oh you know. Beautiful view.”

“Fucking asshole,” Chris muttered.

Andrew swallowed hard around a response to that. A bead of sweat rolled down his nose and plopped on his knee, staining the denim dark right next to the hole he’d been worrying. His face throbbed, and he barely kept himself from poking at the bruise again. “Foster parents were fighting,” he mumbled. “And I didn’t want to be there.” He squeezed his eyes closed immediately and shut his mouth around the rest. _I didn’t want to get yelled at. I didn’t want to get hit. I didn’t want them to see me. I didn’t want **him** to see me. I shouldn’t have said that, I shouldn’t have said that, I shouldn’t have said that–_

“That sucks.”

Andrew chanced a look over at Chris who was still watching him, but his eyes had softened ever so slightly. It wasn’t pity. It was something almost like understanding. “Yeah. I guess.”

“I don’t like it when my Mom yells either,” Chris said.

Andrew recognized the words for what they were: a peace offering, a show of faith, a you-told-me-something-personal-I’ll-tell-you-something-back. He recognized the words for what they were: _dangerous._

There was a clang from below them and Chris’s eyes shot over to the ladder, entire body pulling tight and freezing. “I need to go,” he finally said, after a long, swollen moment.

Andrew watched him uncurl his legs and stand up from the pavement. He was on high alert now, eyes back and forth from Andrew, to the ladder, to the skyline, back to the ladder again. “See you, I guess,” he said, then he jogged across the roof and disappeared from view.

“See you,” Andrew mouthed quietly as soon as he was alone again.

He stayed up there until the sun went down and the stars came out, barely visible through the California smog.

The next day, he went back up to the roof.

The day after that, he went back up to the roof.

The week after that, he went back up to the roof.

Chris was never there.


	3. DAN | AGE 14 | LINCOLN, NORTH DAKOTA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, check it out, I uploaded the right chapter this time!! *Pat on the back*
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3

Dan fought to shrug her backpack on her shoulders and keep a hold of her heavy gym bag at the same time as she walked up the grass towards the parking lot. The small outdoor school stadium was almost completely abandoned now–there were only a couple of asshole kids running back and forth on the court and leaving sneaker marks like idiots. The janitor would have to work like hell to get those off, and Dan scowled then threw her middle finger up towards the court.

They couldn’t see her, but it was the principle of the thing. Respect the fucking court. Stupid assholes.

The parking lot was as empty as the court was–the game had cleared out fast after they’d been completely decimated by the other team, and she’d hidden in the locker room for a good long time trying to cool her rage. Now there was no one left but her and a salt-pitted pick-up truck pulling out of the lot. She watched bounce a little as it eased onto the street, then it was gone too.

Fuck.

She turned back towards the school. There were still a couple lights on in the building, though most were dark. She could head back in again and ask to use the phone, but even if she managed to call, chances of her Aunt actually answering were slim.

She could walk home again, but it was four miles, and it was starting to snow, and fuck Dan hated it here.

She really fucking hated it here.

She threw her bag down as hard as she could, kicked it for good measure, then sat down on it and pulled her knees to her chest.

Her jeans were starting to wear through the knees, and she pulled at her coat sleeves to cover her hands but that was getting too small, and she just…

There wasn’t money. There was barely enough money to eat, so she certainly wasn’t getting a coat any time soon. And it was stupid to feel sorry for herself because none of that was changing, but dammit, it had been a long day, and she’d failed a Spanish pop quiz because she was too tired to think, and then she’d almost gotten in a fight at lunch because some girl called her Aunt a tired old whore, and her Aunt wasn’t, she really, really wasn’t, and then they’d played against Century High with that bitch goalkeeper who blocked every shot their striker took and Dan couldn’t do a damn thing about it because the backliners folded hard in the second half and she had no choice but to play on defense.

Long day.

Long life.

She could hear the sound of footsteps coming up the hill behind her. “Stay off the fucking court with your dirty ass sneakers,” she muttered, still staring at the empty parking lot.

“Oh. Uh, yeah, those guys were being jerks.”

Dan turned to stare at the boy who’d spoken. He had dirty blond hair, he looked even younger than she was, and she was absolutely positive that she’d never seen him before in her life. She looked over him to see the same two assholes running laps on the court now, then fixed her eyes back on the corner of the lot. “Sorry,” she muttered.

“You’re really good.”

One of the lamps flickered, then gave a last, half-hearted buzz before pitching the corner of the parking lot into darkness. Dan sighed, then looked back up at the boy. He was just standing there, awkwardly watching her, one foot toeing circles into the concrete. He looked like he was about to take off running at any second.

“Thanks?”

“Really good. During the game.” He winced. “Sorry. That came out weird. At exy I mean. You’re really good.”

Dan pursed her lips and nodded. She wasn’t really in the mood to talk. She mostly wanted to scream, but doing that in the middle of the abandoned parking lot with a weird kid standing next to her seemed the kind of dramatic that she hated.

He wasn’t moving. His eyes kept flicking nervously towards the street, but mostly he just stood next to her, breath puffing out as condensation.

Dragon breath, she used to call it. That was when she was a kid though. She wasn’t a kid anymore, she was just tired.

“You watched the game?” She asked, because the silence was weird, and it was cold, and maybe if her mouth was moving at least her lips would be warm. Which was stupid. That was something a kid would think, too.

“Mmmm,” he hummed, nodding. “The other team had some really strong players. You guys couldn’t really keep up. It wasn’t _your_ fault,” he added quickly. “You were great. But the rest of your team is…” he shrugged.

“They suck,” Dan filled in. “Thanks for your analysis.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–”

“Do you even go to school here?”

His nose wrinkled, his eyes flicked to the street again, and his hands curled to fists at his sides. “Uh, no, not really.” He gave an uncomfortable little laugh. “Kinda...in between schools at the moment.”

“How can you be in between schools? What are you, eleven? You either go to school, or you don’t.”

“Twelve,” he muttered. “And yeah, I guess, we just moved here but...I don’t think we’ll stay long or whatever.”

“Why?”

“None of your business.”

“Just like my game is none of your business?”

The boy barked a laugh, eyes settling back on hers. “Okay, fair enough. I was running and I saw the lights. So I stopped and watched for a bit. I like exy.”

“Clearly.” Dan blew on her hands, then shoved them up under her armpits and huddled closer to her knees. It was really, really cold.

“You are seriously good though.”

“Yeah, you said that. No offense, but I’ll take it with a grain of salt being that you're twelve.”

“I know how the game works,” he scowled. “I’ve played. And you're not like Kevin Day good, but you should keep playing. You have talent.”

“I don’t know who Kevin Day is and again, you’re twelve. But thanks, kid. It’s been a lousy night, and I appreciate the enthusiasm.”

“You don't…” he gawked at her. “You don’t know who Kevin Day is? What about Riko? Moriyama?”

Dan let out a heavy sigh. Maybe her Aunt would magically show up in the next five seconds and she wouldn’t have to answer that. Maybe she should have kept her mouth shut in the first place and not engaged a random kid in conversation. “Nope.”

“Okay, so they are both up and coming exy stars, and they are seriously amazing. You can sometimes catch their youth league stuff on television. They’ll make court someday. One time, I…” he faded off and swallowed hard. “They’re really good,” he finished lamely.

It was clearly not the thing he’d wanted to say, but she wasn’t going to pry for details.

“Cool,” she said. She winced. Her voice sounded dry and bored which was a crappy way to answer his enthusiastic outburst, but she was tired. Really fucking tired.

A light appeared down the road and Dan watched it hopefully, all the way until it passed the entrance to the parking lot and kept going. She sighed. “My Aunt’s late to pick me up,” she muttered, like maybe saying it outloud would make her appear, like maybe announcing it to the world would make it seem like it was a _one_ time deal and not an _every_ time deal.

“That sucks,” the boy said.

“Yeah.”

“I kinda need to go,” he said. “My Mom…” he went back to nervously watching the road for a second. “I need to go. I just saw you sitting here and wanted to tell you that you were good.”

“Really good,” she said.

“Oh, yeah, right, really good–”

“I’m teasing you. You’ve said _really good_ like ten times in this conversation.”

“Oh.” His cheeks flushed red and he looked down at his sneaker that was still in constant motion, pressing circles into the concrete.

“Thanks,” Dan said. “I’m sorry, I’m just really tired. I appreciate it. So thanks.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Don’t give it up? You’re really good. Fuck, I said it again, okay, sorry, but you are. So don’t give it up.” He gave her an awkward little wave, then turned and started jogging down the street before she could say thanks, or bye, or I still don’t know your name.

Weird kid.

Ten minutes later, her Aunt pulled up in her beaten-to-hell Mazdaa van, and Dan piled her stuff in the car, and tried not to slam the door too hard, but still slammed it enough that her Aunt gave her that tired, sad look, and then Dan felt a little bad, but not bad enough to apologize for it.

She made Kraft mac and cheese for dinner because it was cheap.

The baby screamed for an hour straight.

Dan blinked through exhaustion and did her homework because if she didn’t graduate then she’d never get out of this shithole town, and getting out of this shithole town was priority number one.

She just needed to pass her classes.

And get a job.

And play exy.

Not because she was _really good_ , but because if she didn’t smack a racquet against a ball, then she’d smack her fist against someone’s face and one of those was a lot more socially acceptable than the other.

The next day at recess, she went to the library and looked up Kevin Day. Then she looked up Riko Moriyama.

They both looked like assholes.

Kid was right though, they were really good.

She wanted to be really good too.


	4. AARON | AGE 15 | COLUMBIA, SOUTH CAROLINA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AARON CHAPTER! This is one of my favorites <3
> 
> Thanks so much to all of you reading! Hope you are all having a wonderful weekend :)

Aaron scuffed his shoes along the cracked cement of the deserted lot that separated his street from the 7-11 on the corner. The weeds were growing in thick this summer, pushing the concrete apart even further in every crack, and he kicked at the shattered bits of pavement that remained, listening with satisfaction as they scattered. The parking lot of the 7-11 was lit sallow yellow at night. Ugly, and blinding, and headache inducing. Aaron came around the corner of the building and almost ran smack into a harried looking woman who’s eyes flashed in irritation for a second, then softened as she looked at his face.

He didn’t like her. “Sorry,” Aaron muttered.

“You okay, sweetie?”

He really didn’t like her. Aaron shot her a scowl and pushed past, yanking his hood down even further. It wasn’t going to hide the way his right eye was almost swollen shut, or the dark purple bruise that ran from temple to cheek.

The floor of the convenience store was weird. Like, those reddish color diamonds with dirty grout. He didn’t know what they made floors out of. This one was moving. Sort of.

He was floaty. The _good_ kind of floaty, not the _bad_ kind of floaty where he puked and/or fell over and/or passed out. Whatever Mom gave him this time was heavy-duty stuff.

His face didn’t even really hurt, so much as just...pull.

Weird.

He tugged at his hood again.

And again.

The guy at the register looked up briefly when Aaron entered, then ducked his head back down to his phone. There was some announcement playing through the speakers about 2 for 1 hotdogs if you used your loyalty card, and a hot dog sounded really fucking good.

Maybe, when he got home, he could sneak another few of whatever-this-was from Mom.

Or talk to that guy who hung around the highschool and sold shit.

Or he could man the fuck up, stop whining, and start trying harder. No wonder Mom didn’t want to look at him. He was a mess. He was–

Aaron blinked. It was the stupid fucking pain pills making him all mopey. Probably. Hopefully. Sighing, he turned the corner down the food aisle and dumped a box of Lucky Charms, a loaf of bread, and a couple cans of chicken noodle soup into his basket because he liked chicken noodle soup, even if it came out of a can.

Once, there was a commercial that had this stupid snowman who was cold because of course he was cold, he was a snowman, but the boy in the commercial brought him inside where the mom made chicken noodle soup and eventually the snowman thawed and was actually another little boy.

Or maybe there was only one boy and he was just the snowman.

There was definitely a mom though. Who made soup.

She smiled.

He wondered if she hit the kid when she was upset.

Probably, because that kid looked like an asshole problem kid. He went out in the snow and turned into a snowman. Definitely deserved to get hit.

Aaron grinned, but then that pulled too hard at his bruised face, so he stopped. Maybe he could steal a six pack? That could be interesting. He snuck a look back at register-guy who was not-so-subtly watching him, face lit up by the bright light of his cell phone.

Okay, so stealing a six pack was probably out.

Bottle of wine though?

Register-guys eyebrows rose like he could read Aaron’s fucking mind.

So fine. He wouldn’t steal shit. Getting picked up on petty larceny would be absolutely hilarious. Maybe he could get thrown in juvie. Maybe he could send letters to Andrew fucking Doe from a matching cell, and then maybe Andrew fucking Doe would want to talk to him.

Doe.

Not Minyard.

Why didn’t he….why didn’t he want to be a Minyard? Why didn’t he want to talk? Or...meet? They shared a fucking genetic code, they didn’t have to be best friends but jesus christ, he could just...they could just...

Aaron kicked the bottom of the display in frustration, but then register-guy made to stand from his stool, so he gave a half-hearted wave of apology and rounded the corner to the first aid aisle.

Where another boy was standing.

Looking at the Neosporin, and the bandaids, and the gauze, and the fucking hydrogen peroxide, because that’s where Aaron needed to be, so of course he was there, because the fucking universe was against him tonight.

_Soup,_ he thought. _Breathe. And think about soup, because soup is more relaxing than murder._

God, he was fucking high.

“ ‘scuse me,” he muttered, then shoved past the other boy to grab a bottle of the peroxide, antibiotic ointment, and a bag of cotton balls.

“Oh.” The other boy stepped back quickly, but his eyes flicked to Aaron’s face and widened in surprise. “Oh...uh…”

“Ran into a wall,” Aaron deadpanned, then crossed his arms in front of his chest, daring the kid to say anything else.

“Oh, no, I wasn’t...uh...you just reminded me of someone. That’s all.”

He gave an uncomfortable little shrug, but kept standing there, watching Aaron with his stupid brown eyes. “I uh...need…” he nodded towards the shelf.

Aaron didn’t move because suddenly, this seemed funny. This entire day, this entire week, this entire life. It was all one enormous joke and this kid sure as hell wasn’t the punchline, but he was something. “You _need_?” he asked, drawing out the syllable long past anything resembling amusement.

Kid looked over his shoulder, then turned back, eyes suddenly flashing hot. “Fuck you.” Then he shoved Aaron hard enough to send him staggering backwards, hard enough that his box of Lucky Charms fell on the floor.

Fucker. Somewhere underneath the haze of drugs was anger, furiously burning beneath the surface. Aaron tried to poke at it, tried to let it through, but all he could do was laugh.

It sounded so much sadder than a laugh should sound.

And now that kid was looking at him again,

“Sorry,” the kid muttered. Then, nose wrinkling, he added, “I’m not apologizing for you being an asshole, you know.”

“You wanna fight?” Aaron asked. He didn’t really mean it, it just seemed like the sort of thing you were supposed to say when you’re life fucking sucked, and some kid shoved you in the middle of the gas station aisle and you were trying to stand up for yourself.

Also it seemed like the sort of thing that the bad guys in movies said.

Or in books.

Or in Campbell’s soup commercials.

“You okay?”

Aaron blinked, and forced his attention back to the kid who had taken a step back. “Peachy,” he said. Not: _No_. Not: _Things are really bad right now._ Not: _I got a 4.0 for the semester and I told my mom today because I thought she’d be proud but instead she hit me with the pan I cook Ramen noodles in after school because maybe she was upset that I found out about the twin she gave up, but probably it’s because she just hates me because I’m **me**. _

“Apple cider vinegar,” the boy said.

Aaron squeezed his eyes shut for a second, then knelt down and picked up his box of cereal before yanking self-consciously at his sweatshirt hood again. “Huh?”

“For your face.” He motioned towards Aaron and grimaced. “Apple cider vinegar helps. I know it seems weird. But if you rub it in, it makes them fade faster.”

“Bullshit,” Aaron muttered.

“No, I’m serious. I know it sounds weird, but it works.”

“Yeah, fuck you.”

“You know what, fine. Whatever.” He reached in and yanked out a box of gauze, flipped Aaron off, then stormed up to the front register.

Aaron watched him pay, pulling a couple of bills and some spare change out of the pockets of his ratty jeans.

Then he left.

Register-guy was looking at him again. Aaron sighed, then went back around to the food aisle. He grabbed six packs of beef ramen because beef was the best flavor and suddenly he was craving it. Ramen was better than chicken noodle hands down. Always. No contest.

Also he wanted Twinkies.

He filled his basket, he wandered up to the counter, then he paused by the cleaning supplies long enough to grab the little bottle of apple cider vinegar they had.

Just in case the kid was right.

Just in case.

**Author's Note:**

> Be friends?  
> Follow me on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/agentcoop1)  
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> 


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